Swirling on windy wings,

Winter takes its hold.


A hand, spiderwebbed with frost,

Grasps the world between,

It's calloused fingers.


The clouds engage the fiery sun in a seemingly endless battle,

One they know they cannot win.


Tiny warriors armed with swords of ice,

Descend and wage a short war upon the earth,

Peircing skin,

And freezing hair.

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